


on my saving philosophy, it goes one in the bank and one for me

by babbeige (orphan_account)



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Daddy Issues, Gen, How Do I Tag, Inspired by Poetry, Inspired by Richard Siken, L'Manberg War of Independence on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Lies, Short One Shot, Wilbur Soot Needs a Hug, Wilbur Soot-centric, but not really, how L'Manberg got founded but its filled with deceit, wilbur lies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:46:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27739381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/babbeige
Summary: the dawn was breaking the bones of your heart like twigs. the dusk was the respite but never repair. it was cruel and gloomy, and he would craft songs and poetry out of it like gathering shattered ceramics into a dustpan and gluing it all together again to imitate the vase it used to be. except there never was a dustpan, and wilbur had to sink his nimble hands into sharp edges to pick his words and melodies from the bone marrows that weep inside shattered, ceramic bones. he had to bear the sting of skin breaking and tearing and it came to him as easy as the thought of a revolution.
Relationships: None
Kudos: 13





	on my saving philosophy, it goes one in the bank and one for me

**Author's Note:**

> have u been chilling at cedar rapids?
> 
> title is from Burning Pile by Mother Mother! i listened to it whilst writing. it has a sapnap vibe but i don't know what to write with him so i have the dirty crime boy instead.
> 
> this is,,, kind of,, very very late? i deadass waited till the man died to write about him in dsmp lmao

his lies sink into his own head. sweet, pretty words with empty promises and gentle hugs that comfort and care and love. his lies confuse him, they blend into the truth, and his mind slips away from between his fingers like sand. or maybe he never had it in the first place.

he confuses hands with hissing snakes, fangs laced with the sweetest of venoms that promise you the kiss of a forever slumber, the prick of the spindle of a spinning wheel. a temporary pain and then quiet. he confuses their cautious care and shy concern with indifference, the blood with the ripped-up sky in the midst of a crimson sunset where colors bleed and weep into a contorted gradient like fire fed with gasoline out of control, burning and burning and tearing through everything.

he confuses,  
and wishes otherwise.

the dawn was breaking the bones of your heart like twigs. the dusk was the respite but never repair. it was cruel and gloomy, and he would craft songs and poetry out of it like gathering shattered ceramics into a dustpan and gluing it all together again to imitate the vase it used to be. except there never was a dustpan, and wilbur had to sink his nimble hands into sharp edges to pick his words and melodies from the bone marrows that weep inside shattered, ceramic bones. he had to bear the sting of skin breaking and tearing and it came to him as easy as the thought of a revolution.

socket, says the shoulder. shoulder, says the socket. they ache and cry in a pulsing unison, misplaced and dislodged. they call out to each other in a dramatic wail that leaves him gasping, breathless with pain and hand grabbing helplessly at his dislocated shoulder. let’s kill everything, says everything else and his vision blacks out and his hand falls limp, pain forgets and forgives this time.

color bleeds, so make it work for you.

gravity pulls, so make it work for you.

buildings burn, so make it work for you.

lying works, so make it love you.

the first time he gives a speech to the hurt and the desperate, he shines and glimmers in a way he hadn't felt before. he hadn't seen himself like that before, words crafted effortlessly sounding more like literary lines than dialogue from a man who's been abandoned, who's confused lies for love and love for lies time and time again, a man who's colorless and drifting inside his little mind. he hadn't seen himself with charisma and confidence, a thinly veiled god complex rooted in a past intertwined with daddy issues and middle child syndrome. he hadn't seen himself much at all with the extravagant dream and wonderous ambition.

his words work. he sees his words seep into the graffiti on slum huts, run down houses and dirty walls, 'a better place', he had said. one without war and bloodshed stealing the brightness out of children's eyes. one without a stifling atmosphere for obedience. one with freedom. a better place. free. he never knew the importance of his words until then, how strong the weight of his words were. he could both ruin and create with his voice, he just had to wrap it all up with lace and a bow on top for good measure. after all, its nice when things end with a bow on top, right?

no one has to know if his words really are as pretty as they sound. no one had questioned it. they'd all been swept away with the mention of an idealistic home. wilbur had watched and stared, smiled and nodded at the moment tommy heard his words. the moment tommy got swept up in wilbur's fantasy. 

'imagine, tommy. a place with freedom. true, true freedom.'

a nation built off a lie, a hopeless wish from a man crafted from sad melodies and lonely poetry, molded from an uneventful life. a man built off lies and lies and lies, an extravagant dream and a wondrous ambition.

it was never meant to be.

**Author's Note:**

> i took some lines from a Richard Siken bot on twitter, @sikenpoems
> 
> thank you for reading!  
> i read a fic once that had a reverse timeline -- i think the author has deleted it , i cant find it for the life of me -- which i thought was super cool and kinda realized a few paragraphs into writing this, that even if you read it from the end to the start, it still makes sense and decided to keep that intact throughout the fic. or at least i tried.
> 
> so maybe.. try reading it again that way if you'd like!
> 
> twitter – @BR4lNDEAD  
> the 'I' is a lowercase 'L'.


End file.
